nt of her lofty bluebell
Maya commanded a splendid view of the social life coming awake
beneath. Watching it she forgot, for the moment, her anxiety and
mounting homesickness. It was too amusing for anything to be
safe in a hiding-place, high up, and look down on the doings of
the grass-dwellers below.

Slowly, however, her thoughts went back--back to the home she
had left, to the bee-state, and to the protection of its close
solidarity. There, on this rainy day, the bees would be sitting
together, glad of the day of rest, doing a little construction
here and there on the cells, or feeding the larvae. Yet, on the
whole, the hive was very quiet and Sunday-like when it rained.
Only, sometimes messengers would fly out to see how the weather
was and from what quarter the wind was blowing. The queen would
go about her kingdom from story to story, testing things,
bestowing a word of praise or blame, laying an egg here and
there, and bringing happiness with her royal presence wherever
she went. She might pat one of the younger bees on the head to
show her approval of what it had already done, or she might ask
it about its new experiences. How delighted a bee would be to
catch a glance or receive a gracious word from the queen!

Oh, thought Maya, how happy it made you to be able to count
yourself one in a community like that, to feel that everybody
respected you, and you had the powerful protection of the state.
Here, out in the world, lonely and exposed, she ran great risks
of her life. She was cold, too. And supposing the rain were to
keep up! What would she do, how could she find something to eat?
There was scarcely any honey-juice in the canterbury bell, and
the pollen would soon give out.

For the first time Maya realized how necessary the sunshine is
for a life of vagabondage. Hardly anyone would set out on
adventure, she thought, if it weren't for the sunshine. The very
recollection of it was cheering, and she glowed with secret
pride that she had had the daring to start life on her own hook.
The number of things she had already seen and experienced! More,
ever so much more, than the other bees were likely to know in a
whole lifetime. Experience was the most precious thing in life,
worth any sacrifice, she thought.

A troop of migrating ants were passing by, and singing as they
marched through the cool forest of grass. They seemed to be in a
hurry. Their crisp morning song, in rhythm with their march,
touched the